


Waking World

by rallamajoop



Series: Waking World [1]
Category: Venom (Movie 2018), Venom - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Demonic Possession, Dreams and Nightmares, Other, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22630591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rallamajoop/pseuds/rallamajoop
Summary: I am Venom,the monster pronounces, its voice a deep rumble that shivers through the very earth.And you... You weremeantfor me.Conflicting feelings of fear, pity and revulsion have turned Eddie's every instinct inside out. Itcan'tthink he'd trust anything it has to say. "What's that supposed to mean?"Come closer,cajoles the monster.I will show you.
Relationships: Eddie Brock/Venom Symbiote
Series: Waking World [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859569
Comments: 21
Kudos: 213





	Waking World

**Author's Note:**

> Because there can never be nearly enough demon!Venom AUs, and because I had the urge to write something dark and twisted and surreal, and this is what came to me. 
> 
> **Content Notes:** Consent in this one goes somewhere beyond 'dubious' territory (the non-con tag is there for a reason). If you'd rather see some spoilers in advance than decide whether to proceed without, you can highlight the below for more detail. 
> 
> While the Venom of this universe ultimately seeks Eddie's (not especially well-informed) consent to bond with him, Venom is still a very literal demon here, and his first attempt at convincing Eddie involves molesting him with fluid tentacles, while Eddie is terrified and trapped in a claustrophobic dead-end cave tunnel. All of Eddie's experiences in this fic are surreal to the point that he questions his own memory, but this one is darker than may be for everyone.

The first thing Eddie becomes aware of is the glare.

After several seconds of blinking and squinting, the universe resolves enough for him to find himself lying with his cheek pressed to a bed of fine, white sand, stretching to the horizon in a shining sea that reflects the light like fresh snow. Behind him, a cluster of jagged pillars of jet black rock emerge from the bloom at irregular intervals, reaching like pillars towards the sky. 

The sky itself is a roof of interminable grey, unbroken by cloud or sun, and that's... wrong. Very wrong, for the level of light bouncing back off the sand. Eddie squints into a landscape that jars the senses like an effect poorly composed on a greenscreen, light that comes from everywhere and nowhere, and turns your sense of distance inside out. 

Rubbing his eyes doesn't help. 

He has the idea that he'd been dreaming, but of what, he can't remember. Has he been here before? What was...? 

In the distance, something roars. 

He should probably find shelter, he thinks. 

* * *

Travelling is slow progress. Out in the open, his feet sink into sand that swallows them to the ankle with every step. The earth is firmer near the stones, though there's little shade or cover even there. Up close, the stones form irregular lines that curve away from him to twist into a half-ring with distance, like rows of jagged teeth. Their dark shapes are cool to the touch, but the air around swims with steam that makes his vision flex and dance when he tries to focus. The land around them wavers like a mirage, bright and empty in a way that leaves him restless, haunted by the inexplicable feeling he's being watched. 

The stones demarcate the only really solid ground in what might as well be the whole world, so Eddie squints at one end of the ring, then the other, picks one, and sets out. Maybe, once he reaches the other side, this will all make sense. Or at least there'll be some shade. 

The curve of the ring ensures that his goal—such as it is—is never out of sight, but focusing on anything that far away in this air is an eye-watering experience. Spots in his vision become dark threads that cling and crawl across the surface of the rock, pooling in the sand. It soon becomes uncomfortable to concentrate on anything more than a few feet away, so Eddie looks down at his own feet, watching after-images skitter out of sight at the edge of his vision whenever he tries to catch them at it. Once in a while, he succumbs and sneaks a glimpse at the far end of the circle, and idly tries to convince himself that it's getting closer as he walks towards it—that it's getting clearer, that the particular arrangement of dark shapes on white is the same one he remembers from his _last_ glimpse, or at least the one before it. Were there three close-set pillars, their points carving a zig-zag pattern against the sky, or only two, a long streak of daylight dividing them? Was the fallen stone lying flat on the sand there last time he looked? It must have been. It must be a trick of the changing angle. The stones aren't moving. It's an artefact of his eyes, refocusing—see, whenever he looks away and back, there it is again—the same threads crawling down the surface of the rock, pooling in the sand. 

He still can't shake the feeling that watching too long might be somehow _unwise_ ; the childhood superstition that the monster under your bed won't be there if only you don't open your eyes. 

Distracted, he watches the distant shadows flow and coalesce, peel away from the stones and shimmer in the steam. He watches the congealing black mass open its gaping maw and roar. It begins to move towards him, footsteps impossibly heavy in the sand. 

Eddie freezes. Then he turns around and runs. 

It's hopeless; he knows it's hopeless. There's nowhere to hide—even if he could outrun this monster, the stones don't go on forever, there's nowhere to _go_. His feet slide in the sand, weaving between rocks, his head swims. He can hear it closing in on him, closer with each thundering stride—any moment now, it will reach him, it will... 

In desperation, he breaks from the ring, hoping against hope that the soft, empty sand might slow it down enough to give him the advantage—it sounds enormous, like it must weigh a ton. But even for Eddie, it's like trying to run in water, every step like putting your foot into a puddle you can't see the bottom of. The monster roars again, startlingly close, he can almost feel its breath on the back of his neck—Eddie barely notices he's sunk up to his knees until he takes one more step and doesn't stop sinking, the earth turning to quicksand that sucks him down like he's stepped off a cliff, gasping and grasping for purchase he can't find. His last baffled thought as the sand closes over his head is that this is _nothing_ like the hiding place he'd wanted; it won't even matter if the monster catches him now, though the roar is right on top of him, only muffled now, because... 

* * *

Eddie wakes to find himself lying with his cheek pressed to a bed of soft, white sand. Confused, he sits up, and stares into an empty, grey sky. 

Where is he? A memory like something out of a dream settles over him gradually, of fleeing from something unnameable through a nest of jagged, black teeth, of being swallowed by the earth. Was any of it real? He can't see how, and yet... 

Uneasily, he gets to his feet. The sand beneath reluctantly gives them back to him. 

* * *

He doesn't find the ring again. Here, the black stone forms great formations, arching over his head like the fossils of an ancient city. Inside, Eddie finds a wasp's nest of tunnels and openings, layered and honeycombed with caves, windowed with vast holes where the roof has given way to the bombardment of the strange, sunless light he woke to outside. _Has_ woken to, at least twice now. Probably. 

It's a relief to have shelter, somewhere that offers such a limitless inventory of hiding places—but with that comes the uncomfortable awareness that anything could be hiding in here already. The feeling of being watched never goes away. 

Somewhere, water drips, and it dawns on Eddie that he's impossibly thirsty. 

The pool is as black as the rock of the cave, stretching off into the gloom out of sight. The edge of the nearest skylight falls several feet short—too far for any light to reach the pool, too close for there to be any space for one's eyes to adjust to the dark. The water is cold but not pristine—a faint, oily aftertaste builds with every mouthful, but Eddie cups his hands back in a dozen times before he's sated. 

Rising again, he frowns, unsure what seems amiss. All is still and quiet; it takes a moment for him to identify that the dripping noise which had led him here has stopped. Puzzled, he looks out into the pond, and watches faint clusters of ripples stutter across the surface, as if shaken by some invisible, rhythmic vibration, unfelt or heard. 

Eddie wipes his mouth. The fluid left on his hands clings to them strangely. When he reaches back towards the pool, the water rises to meet his fingers, and Eddie's frown deepens—he can't, just at the moment, make up his mind whether water is supposed to do that, or what it means when it does. 

He shivers. He should go, but curiosity makes him lean still further out over the still water of the pool, looking for his own reflection. 

He finds it—all in a rush as the water rises to meet him, or perhaps as he falls to meet it—tipped deep into the distortion of a face like nothing he's ever seen before. 

* * *

This time, he wakes at the edge of the caves. The memory of his own reflection in the pool teases at him, but the image in his mind declines to resolve beyond a dark blur. 

* * *

It isn't long before the monster finds him, again. 

There's no indistinct, distant shadow, this time, no heavy footfalls as it gains on him, unseen. This time, he's seen its face—seen it, and almost felt he recognised it, but there's no time to dwell on _where_ or _how_ when it's close enough for its bulk to block the light as it moves around the cave, hunting for him. 

_**Eddie**_ **,** it calls, in a voice like broken glass, **I know you're there, Eddie.**

Eddie is wedged into the bottom of a crevasse so narrow he can't pull his legs to his chest. He'd hoped for something better than a dead end—hoped the passage he'd crawled into on his elbows would widen further in, give him another way out. Maybe it does, somewhere further on, but not before it narrows to an impassable space, half the breadth of his shoulders, so with every joint bruised and scuffed on the hard edges of the rock, that's where he stops. 

Light sneaks in around him through narrow cracks that tease him with the impossibility of escape. He's trying not to think about how the only way out is to wiggle back the way he came, feet first, functionally blind—if that's even possible anymore, if he hasn't stuck himself in here like a fish in a trap. The monster, still pacing and prowling outside, is a very effective distraction. 

He _should_ be out of reach here. It can't follow him in here, but the fear persists that he hasn't crawled far enough—there's no good way to judge distance when you can't even see your own feet. How much space there might be between his toes and the open air of the cavern, he doesn't know; whether the monster's arms are long enough to stretch into the tunnel and find him. 

He tries not to think too hard about how it knows his name. Maybe, if he's quiet long enough, it will go away. Maybe it knows exactly where he is, and is drawing this out to torment him. Maybe he'll starve here, wedged into a coffin of stone. 

Something touches his toe—something fluid and slick, but animated with purpose. Eddie flinches, bangs his knee hard on a rock, bangs his head on the wall behind him, and sees stars. Dizzily, he tries to believe that what follows might be all in his head too—something that comes creeping up his leg, over his skin. 

**You can't hide from me, Eddie,** the monster rumbles, as Eddie jerks, gasps, tries not to hyperventilate, hands scrabbling uselessly at gaps in the rock around him, that steadfastly fail to give way and offer him a way out. A sensation like living slime has crawled all the way up to his hip, and when it spreads across his groin, no power in this strange world could have kept in the whimper that emerges from his lips. In the distance, he thinks he hears someone laughing. 

That sensation reaches the base of his cock, flows languidly around it, and starts downwards. He can feel it between his legs, sliding into the crack between his cheeks. A paralysing fear of _what if it reaches my face?_ gives way to the new fear that it might not be trying to, doesn't _need_ to, when it literally has him by the balls—and even that isn't enough to satisfy this creature, for it doesn't stop. It's far too late to worry about what happens if it finds a way inside him, because now it _has_ —a thin tendril pressing insistently into him from behind, even as he panics and clenches every muscle in his body. His hands twitch uselessly, the fear of getting it on his fingers at war with the urge to claw this stuff _off_ at any cost. It's no good: pulse by pulse, it insinuates itself further in, even as it spreads down his cock with excruciating slowness, slicks over the head and presses into the slit. 

**Are you so eager to reject us, Eddie?** he hears, **Do not fight us. We only want to** _ **help**_ **you.** Eddie groans, thrashes, jerks against it—every movement only makes it worse. It _throbs_ inside him, he's harder than he can ever remember being before in his life—he gives up, stutters and _comes_ with what feels like enough force to bring the whole cave down around him. 

* * *

This time, Eddie wakes with a violent start, gasping. His body is miraculously clean and dry, unmarked and unbruised—safe, or as safe as he is anywhere in this place—and abruptly, incomprehensibly bereft. For the first time, he curls his legs up to his chest and just breathes for long moments (minutes? Hours? How can you judge time, here, when there isn't any sun that never sets?) before opening his eyes again. 

Then he uncurls, picks himself up, and starts walking again, because what else is there to do? 

* * *

He doesn't know what to make of this land of white light and sand, black stone and shadow, under a grey sky that might be fog and might be smoke, but seems always devoid of clouds. He's seen the monsters—white eyes and white teeth and oily grey-black skin. He's starting to worry that if he scraped open a hand on the raw stone, he himself might not bleed red anymore. He's starting to worry that he's forgotten what colour looks like. 

This time, when the monster finds him, he doesn't hide, he _runs_. He isn't sure why he bothers. Even if it caught him—if it bit his head clean off—most likely he'd just wake up one more time, ready to start this charade anew. 

He wonders how many times he's done this now. He wonders how many of those wakings—how many half-remembered horrors were real. 

In the darkness of the caves, he catches his foot on a jutting rock, skids on a thin layer of sand that slides over the bed of stone, loses his balance, and tumbles into a shadow without a bottom, falls and _falls_ and... 

* * *

With each new waking, it seems to take less and less time for the monster to find him. 

He can't hide from it. He can't outrun it, but he doesn't have a third option, so he hides, again. Squeezed into an upright cleft in the stone, so narrow he'd had to twist sideways to enter, he feels at once trapped and far, far too exposed. At least this time he hasn't had to crawl—not much. At least this time he's on his feet—more or less, the space is some degrees short of vertical, and the lower wall takes most of his weight. There might even be another way out—he isn't sure, the far end of the crevice is shrouded in shadow, and Eddie isn't ready to push that far until there's no other option left. 

Outside, in the greater cave, the monster paces and roars, relentless. From time to time, he thinks he hears stone breaking. It seems angrier this time; it hasn't spoken to him again. Maybe it, too, is growing frustrated with Eddie's never-ending wakings and resets. He could hardly blame it. It's hard to remember what all this hiding is supposed to achieve. Maybe he should just step out there, and let it have him. He'll either wake up again, or not, and is either option worse than being trapped here, waiting for the inevitable? 

He's wondering how long this will take—will it come bleeding in through the floor again, when it finds him?—when the wall to his left erupts into a cacophony of stone shrapnel as the grey blur of a massive arm smashes clean through the rock. Any thought of giving in evaporates in blind panic under the desperate instinct to get _away._

For a horrible, overlong moment he's stuck—sandwiched into a space that closes around him, every limb moving uselessly at cross purposes. Another sickening crack; the stone at his back gives way all at once, almost tumbles him into freefall, grasping for purchase on the opposite wall to catch himself. He hasn't even found his feet when huge claws rake down his unprotected back, and Eddie screams. He can feel himself bleeding; his back sings with pain. 

The world blurs like the too-bright light of the desert through steam. He doesn't know which way is up anymore. He rolls, ends up on his elbows, and finds himself looking into a face full of teeth, dripping with menace. 

_This is it,_ he thinks, _this is how it ends_. 

The monster roars, one more time, in a voice that seems to come from everywhere, that echoes strangely, like a call-and-answer from somewhere out of sight. There's a blur of movement as something flies at the monster and collides with force, and the sight in front of Eddie explodes into a fury of sound and motion. At first, he thinks the ceiling has caved in, the space in front of him a whirlwind of teeth and gore. He thinks he sees an arm torn off and flung away; he doesn't see where it lands. 

He might never have made sense of what he was watching without the moment in the tableau when, locked in a contest of strength, Eddie sees the attacker look back at him over its shoulder and growl, **You** _ **fool**_ **.** _ **Run!**_

Eddie stares, blinks, picks himself up and runs. 

Now that he sees both monsters together, he doesn't know how he ever thought they were one and the same. 

* * *

He doesn't get very far. 

Once all has gone quiet, the monster finds him. It's the black one, not the grey—the attacker; he's _almost_ sure this time. Almost, because as it drags itself towards him, its flesh seems to drip from its bones, its entire body melting into a shapeless mass. Before, it had walked upright, on two feet; now it crawls, each motion laboured and sluggish as if they're back outside, knee-deep in sucking sands. White flecks drip from the remnants of its mouth like half-eaten food—they're _teeth_ , Eddie realises with a shudder. An eye slides down the left side its face, dissolving into the mass, and reforms back in place; smaller, not quite in line. If it won the fight, it can't have been much of a victory. 

It shouldn't be threatening, like this, but Eddie grimly remembers the sensation of living slime crawling up his leg, and keeps his distance. 

_**Eddie**_ **...** What's left of its mouth faintly bubbles as it speaks. _**Help**_ **me.**

Eddie reminds himself that just because these monsters are fighting over him, that doesn't mean their goals are any different—that just because this one ( _probably_ this one) had _got him off_ instead of trying to tear him in two, that doesn't mean it's friendly. 

"Help _you_?" he manages. "I don't even know who you are. _What_ you are!" 

**I am Venom,** the monster pronounces. **And** _ **you**_ **...** Its mouth doesn't seem involved in speaking at all anymore, its voice a deep rumble that shivers through the very earth. **You were** _ **meant**_ **for me.**

Conflicting feelings of fear, pity and revulsion have turned Eddie's every instinct inside out. It _can't_ think he'd trust anything it has to say. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

**Come closer,** cajoles the monster. **I will show you.**

Eddie takes an involuntary step back. "The—the other one, the grey one, you fought back in..." He waves a hand, vaguely, back the way they'd come. There's no keeping the whimper out of his voice, "Is that what _it_ would have told me too?" 

**Him?** Venom laughs, low and broken. _**He**_ **would not have wasted his breath. He would have eaten your soul, then followed its trace back to your body, and worn you like a second skin.** For a moment, the pattern of teeth sloping down Venom's chin looks almost like a smile. 

Eddie stares mutely at the monster, his jaw working soundlessly; the gashes in his back burn like ice. He wonders if Venom has guessed how close he'd come to giving up, letting that happen—if that's why Venom is telling him this, all some sadistic game. 

**But** _ **I**_ **can help you,** Venom goes on. **I can show you how to get back to it.**

"Back to...?" 

**Your body,** says Venom, as if that should have been obvious. 

Eddie wants to tell this monster he knows where his body is: it's right here, he's standing in it. He doesn't know what to believe anymore. "Why should I believe you?" 

**Why?** Again, Venom laughs. **Eddie. I'm all you have.**

Eddie looks away. He wants to tell Venom he didn't ask for his help, he can find his way out on his own. 

**Do you want to know how I won?** Venom tells him, apropos of nothing. **It was because I had more to lose.** Even as he melts in front of Eddie's eyes, the hand he extends is almost solid. _**Trust**_ **me.**

If he waits here, perhaps Venom will melt away completely, right in front of him. He only has to wait. Maybe Venom will beg, if he turns away. It's the smart thing to do, Eddie thinks. 

Then he shuts his eyes, and reaches for a hand that ceases to be solid the moment their fingers meet. 

* * *

The last time Eddie wakes, he's alone. All around him is dark. 

"Venom?" he calls, voice breaking, scared there might not be an answer, and equally scared that there _will_ be. 

**I am here, Eddie.** The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere. 

"Where are you?" His voice echoes, bouncing back from the unseen distance. 

_**Inside**_ **you.**

Eddie feels instantly ill. "What?" Even in decay, the monster's form had been enormous. How could...? 

Venom laughs. **It is where I belong. Come, Eddie. You want to leave this place, don't you? I can show you how.**

His hands are shaking. The taste of bile rises in the back of his throat. The urge to claw off his own skin, find Venom and cast him _out_ writhes in his gut. "Back to...?" 

**It isn't far, now. Hadn't you noticed? Every time you open your eyes, you're a little closer.**

That... might be true. He must be deeper into the caves now than he ever has been before—that restless need to move that returns every time he wakes. "You bastard. I didn't need you to get me there at all, did I?" 

**That depends,** says Venom, reasonably. **You wouldn't want to risk someone** _ **else**_ **getting there first, hm? Not everyone here is as friendly as I am.**

"Friendly?" Eddie doesn't even know where to start. "Is that what you call _friendly_?" 

Behind his ribcage, something cold and fluid seems to contract, twist, expanding into a brief, strange warmth, gone again before Eddie can make up his mind what to think about it. **Oh, I can be** _ **very**_ **friendly. Are you ready to go home, Eddie?**

Eddie looks around himself and takes a deep breath. He thinks about Venom the monster, Venom the flowing slime creature which had clung to his ankle and told him not to be afraid, and supposes it's a little too late to wonder if he's made the biggest mistake of his life. Perhaps nothing here is really real. 

He nods, and pushes himself to his feet one last time. "Okay. Let's go; let's get this over with." 

**Oh,** _ **Eddie**_ **,** Venom purrs, low and indulgent, **This is only the beginning.**

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [on tumblr](https://rallamajoop.tumblr.com/). Feedback is love, either here or there.


End file.
